The Hardy Hills, on Entar's southwestern coast, early summer of 1084
"The Lord of Silence"Finally, I've arrived. Entar. My promised land.
My lord foresaw this day, when their might would reach the world at large, and through me shall bring it collapsing to the ground and rule over the wreckage. None shall be spared.
My clansmen were the first to be blessed with release from the clutches of mortality, in death they serve a greater purpose, wether they were enlightened enough to accept this or not is irrelevant. The flower cares not for where it's sunlight originates. All shall serve.
Entar is nothing like home. Countless thousands call these lands home, living in permanent settlements the likes of which my homeland's tribes could never comprehend. They live in one place, never moving, bleeding the land dry like parasites instead of taking only what they need. Enthralling wildlife won't be as effective here, I'll need to strike from within, hide in plain sight until my lord decides when to strike.
I'll bide my time, learn what there is to know about this new land I find myself in, learn it's weaknesses, learn where I can find what I need.
I guess I'd better make myself comfortable for a while.
Rono Ikashjir, Human treasure hunterThe evening sun cast it's warm glow upon the coastal waters, giving them a brilliant orange glow much like that of the magma canals seen in some Dwarven holdings.
Rono and his band of mercenaries took a moment to drink in the scenery before setting their sights on the purpose of their visit; a mysterious shipwreck on the nearby beach.
"Why are we wasting time digging through driftwood, boss? We could have shaken down the traders back at the market!" one of the mercenaries exclaimed.
"First rule of treasure hunting, Tolmo; believe any rumours you hear. You never know where that grain of truth may be hidden." Rono sighed in response.
"Remember that Dwarven shanty town we visited near their capital? 'Hell on Entar' they called it, had the entire fortress sealed off and lived on the surface, pretty strange for Dwarves. Why would they voluntarily live above ground when the faintest whiff of sunlight makes them heave? Something was down there, and they wanted to make damned sure it didn't get out."
"Surprised you had time to take in any of the local mythology between all those visits to the brothel, boss." Godan snickered in response.
"Say what you want about our stout neighbors, Godan. They know how to party." Rono retorted, a mischievous smirk slowly creeping across his face.
"As I was saying to Tolmo, this shipwreck you see here ran ashore a month or two ago, the town's guard swear it came from the south. Couldn't recognize the heraldry on it. And remind me again, what lies south?"
"Nobody knows?" Godan and Tolmo responded in unison.
"Correct. As far as scholars are concerned the map ends a few miles off the southern coast of Jirdocobi. I've travelled all over Entar and haven't ever seen markings like the ones on this tub. For all we know, this ship could have come from off the maps. Who knows what we could find aboard? We could buy ourselves a hamlet each and live like kings for the rest of our days! Where's your sense of adventure?"
Godan, Tolmo and the other mercenaries simply looked onto the beached shipwreck, suddenly enthralled by the idea of their last days being spent perched upon a solid gold chamberpot.
"Damn it, boss, you're lucky I'm a whore for a good speech. I'm in".
Rono and his men cautiously made their way aboard the wreck, weapons drawn. Aside from a few ruined books written in a language none were familiar with that had begun to fade in the sun and rot in the humid air, nothing of note was aboard, save for a few skeletons and a very territorial crab.
"Not one person says 'I told you so', unless you want a spear in your eye socket. Grab the books and we'll head back into town for some mead. Maybe the local lord hasn't realised we're the bandits he's after and we can scam the bounty out of him." Rono sighed, strapping his spear onto his back and leading his men back towards Alatesme.
"Boss, if that ship washed ashore only a few weeks or so ago, why did the corpses look like they'd been there for years? That wreck didn't look that old to begin with." Istrul asked, a look of utter confusion across his face.
"Does it matter? Evidence of civilization beyond Entar would have made us rich, the circumstances of what made those skeletons probably won't."
Astesh Kolcerol, Dwarven peasantThe streets of Rallogem's hastily-built slums were blanketed by a thin cloud of smoke seeping from the old fortress' sealed gates, being produced by whatever was being contained within. Drunken wailing, collapsing shacks and the din of sparring recruits blended into a single constant noise, which Astesh found unbearable. Never again would he complain about the gentle hum being produced by the complex machinery scattered throughout the Mountainhome.
He longed to return back to Udeshurvad, feasting upon Forgotten Beasts and training Giant Cave Spiders proved to be far more entertaining than his current task, but King Asmel ordered that Rallogem's militia be bolstered, drafting the peasantry at random. Insisting the settlement's militia be given the best possible combat training to prepare for the unlikely chance of another war breaking out, he'd assigned his general, Cog Durmorul, a seasoned war veteran to train us. He knew what was being contained within the abandoned halls, and if it was worth sacrificing one of our most valuable trading posts and keeping guarded at all times, Astesh knew better than to question his king.
Dwarves, Humans, even Elves and animal folk came to call this ramshackle settlement home, being drawn to the idea of an easy life guarding a ruin. Cog was sent to make sure they knew this was no holiday. He personally knew the fortress' founder, Oddom Ralkubuk, and would be sure his friend's works would be treated with respect. Oddom didn't spend an entire winter starving to death while digging out Rallogem's foundations to have it's entrance become a squatting ground for drunks...well, drunks without purpose, anyway.
Letting out a weary sigh and pushing back the thoughts of the wife and children he was forced to leave behind, Astesh gathered with his fellow conscripts to be addressed by General Cog.
"Welcome to Rallogem, soldiers. On behalf of His Worship, I must apoligise for taking you all away from your homes, families and work, but you have been chosen to serve a greater purpose. I'm sure you know the tales surrounding this place, the disaster that caused almost three decades of constant warfare across Entar and spread the beast blood across the heartlands like a plague, but there was another event that transpired here. You don't need to know the details, but behind the fortress' main gate lies something crucial to our victory should another war erupt. Even now, in peacetime, we need as many people here as possible keeping looters out of Rallogem. Nobody enters, nothing leaves. Some of you have served as fortress guard before, some served in their nation's militaries, some I even met on the battlefields myself. Most, however, have never picked up a weapon in your lives, judging by the looks on your faces."
Pausing briefly, Cog drew his shortsword from it's scabbard and raised it for all to see. To call this sword a work of art would be an insult to whoever forged it, it's hilt coated in silver with the Banner of Souls' sigil emblazoned on the crossguard in amethyst, with the blade itself composed of Adamantine - the spellmetal presumed to be a myth, held only by royalty and the military's top brass. The blade shone bright blue in the sunlight, making the sky itself look bland in comparison, beautiful yet sharp enough to make lesser men worry they'd cut themselves just gazing upon it.
"Fear not, I will teach you how it's done. With this blade, I have brought countless foes to their knees. In time I'll turn you whelps from harmless peasants to masters of the blade, capable of felling Forgotten Beasts in your sleep. Training begins at midday tomorrow, you'll find training gear in your bunks."
Asmel Bergesis, King of the DwarvesThis place has always confused me, King Asmel thought to himself as he trudged through the countryside, the nausea that plagues his kind when travelling above ground still in full effect. Humans always preferred to live up top in little wooden boxes, the sun and open air beating down on them like a rain of arrows. They settled here, so close to the Mountainhome that they may as well have just moved in, and huddled underground like scared vermin for what? A surprise attack? Walk through the main gate, overpower the Swordmasters, Hammer Lords and Royal Guard, bypass all the mechanized defences and raid The Vault? We had the men to grind every human town from the heartlands to the eastern coastline to dust, it would have taken every soldier they had just to distract us long enough to get a few men inside, let alone past the guards still stationed within, all to raid our Adamantine and take it home where nobody would have a clue how to forge it.
Regardless the intentions, Asmel wasn't here to find answers to this place's purpose. It was abandoned within months of it's construction, if the scout party's report is to be believed. The mystery lies with what happened to the Dwarven garrison that was stationed here afterwards. They seemingly disappeared. But ever since the approximate time Humans disappeared, there have been reports of attacks on caravans and raiding parties from all nations in this region, by what appeared to be undead Humans and Dwarves if reports are to be believed.
Was such a thing even possible? Asmel pondered. Magic is believed to be harnessed only by the gods themselves, and whatever horrors lurked in the Underworld. Even then, death was death, and that couldn't be reversed. But like many before him, Asmel was obsessed with this concept, to the point of madness. He had become too old to produce an heir of his own, and his inheritance of the crown from his mother had created the first royal dynasty since Bim Rulertrade first founded the kingdom millennia ago. He would find a way to achieve eternal life, whatever the cost, so his dynasty would stay in power. Whatever happened here may give him some answers. Anything that would stop him risking death by going to-
"Your worship, there's someone in that dust cloud blowing in." One of his guards mentioned. His men stepped in front of Asmel and readied themselves to protect their king, not taking chances that their guest might just want to chat. As the figure approached, staying within the dust, one of the guardsdwarves approached them, coming to an immediate standstill as the cloud enveloped him.
"Feb? What do they want?" Another guard called out, to no response. Slowly, Feb turned around and began following the figure out of the fog, his skin pale as fresh snow and a blank look in his eyes, stepping out of the cloud towards the group with the mysterious figure, now identifiable as a Human women, similarly pale and expressionless, but withered and frail, as if she'd been mummified.
Two guardsdwarves raised their crossbows in anticipation, as the remaining Hammerlord stepped toward the potential threat.
"Feb? Snap out of it, what's going on-"
Before the Hammerlord could finish his sentence, Feb quickly grabbed him by the throat, and Asmel watched in horror as the colour drained from his skin and eyes, becoming one of them, and joining them in their approach.
The two remaining guards fired bolts into the attackers, to no effect.
"Get into the fortress and seal the gate! We need to get away from this fog!" Asmel commanded, ordering his men to retreat into Ceslazjamas. As they began to sprint to the entrance for their lives, the enthralled guards ran after them. Firing another volley at their former brothers-in-arms, the dust-posessed Feb fell to the ground, motionless. Ushering Asmel into the main gate, the two crossbowmen pulled a lever behind them, staying outside to hold off the attackers until the gate sealed.
Asmel watched in horror as his remaining retinue was overrun, one having his ribcage crushed with the silver warhammer of the remaining posessed guard, the other being taken off-guard by the mummified human. Both were added to the attacker's numbers. Luckily for Asmel, the gate fully sealed mere moments before the fog rolled in, narrowly avoiding being taken as well.
The next two days were spent scouring the fortresses library, stretching out his rations as long as he could. As much as Asmel feared for his life, he was fascinated. He searched for any leftover research on the dust cloud that the previous inhabitants may have recorded, in the hopes of finding what could cause the weather to...change people like that. While he finally had an answer to the question of what happened to the various settlers of this place, many more entered his mind. What was that cloud? Was it a natural phenomenon? Was it produced by the nearby Dark Goblin Fortresses as a weapon? Were his men and that Human still even alive? How could he use this? Asmel was shaking from a mixture of fear, hunger and an odd sense of excitement.
While trying to relax, examining the surrounding Human architecture that had been carved over with Dwarven iconography, Asmel was suddenly snapped out of his train of thought by the first voice he'd heard in days.
"Your worship? Where are you?" A distinctly Dwarven accent called out.
"Down in the library, close the gate behind you! They could still be out there!" Asmel yelled in response, grabbing his belongings and donning his Adamantine crown once more, running up to meet his rescuers.
"What could still be up there, your worship? What happened to your guards?" The leader of the newly-arrived Swordmasters asked, puzzled.
Asmel looked outside and saw that the dust cloud had vanished, along with it's new slaves. Even the blood and viscera from the hammer blow were gone. It was like they were never there.
"I... There was a... I'm not sure. Take me home, subjects. You will be handsomely rewarded for rescuing your king." Asmel thought it wise to not share what had happened, lest rumours of his declining sanity worsen.
Lapip Bengelgatak, Human lady of Alatesme"Are you telling me that not only were those bounty hunters I paid the very bandits I placed the bounty on, and not only did they make me look a fool in front of my court, but they also emptied the treasury, stole all of our mead, started a fire in the tavern after a brawl, but their ringleader...slept with my gods-damned daughter?!"
"Yes, m'dame. We have all available men searching-"
Lapip rubbed her temples in frustration before cutting her hearthperson off mid-sentence.
"I swear to whatever gods will listen, if you don't bring me Rono Bitterrises' head on a spike, I will leave you so bloodied and broken that years from now, your great-grandchildren will be born with black eyes!"
"I may be able to calm your nerves, my lady."
Lapip and her entourage paused their bickering, and turned to the newcomer, clad in a leather shroud obscuring his face and dragging a dead lion alongside him.
"Who are you, stranger? Do you claim to know where the brigands are headed?" Lapip asked excitedly.
"It matters not where they go. Death catches up to us all." The stranger muttered, his voice commanding the attention of everybody in the room yet leaving them unnerved.
"That's a... morose way of saying it, but very well. Bring me Bitterrises and his men and I'll see to it that-"
Before the hearthpeople and councillors could react, the stranger produced a copper dagger from his cloak, throwing it faster than they had ever witnessed a dagger be thrown, directly into Lapip's throat, killing her instantly.
"What is the meaning of this?! Stand down at once, m'sir!" A councillor shouted, the hearthpeople readying their weapons.
"As I said, death catches up to all. It found your leader. It will find this "Bitterrises". It has found you, and soon will find the townsfolk.
The strangers then made a gesture with his throwing hand, immediately followed by both the dead lion and the newly-deceased Lapip shuddering and standing to their feet.
"What foul sorcery is this-" A hearthperson exclaimed as the undead lion pounced and mauled him to death, ignoring any blows dealt by the man's sword. The resurrected Lapip pulled the dagger from her throat and leapt towards the nearby councillors, tearing into them with an inhuman speed and fury. Within mere moments the screams had faded, and the hall fell silent. The hooded stranger made another hand gesture and every corpse in the room returned to life, standing before their new master. Those that could still wielded their weapons, while dismembered limbs dragged themselves along underfoot.
The stranger and his undead slaves promptly left the hall, and made towards the town at the base of the hill. Smiling peacefully to himself as his minions charged past him at terrifying speeds towards the awaiting townsfolk, the stranger muttered to himself;
"Death has come for you, Alatesme. All shall serve."
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Topic: Tales from Entar: The Age of Silence [Artists wanted!] (Read 2167 times)